


dry as a bone

by mutalune



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Adopted Children, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Dadalorian, F/F, Families of Choice, Family Drama, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mandalorian Culture, Skywalker Family Drama, Soft and Fluffy, Some Humor, Some Plot, Some angst, Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker Spoilers, The Mandalorian Spoilers, Unconventional Families, a lot of deserts, baby yoda is not named and there's a REASON for that, we're here to have fun and give din more children
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22036204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mutalune/pseuds/mutalune
Summary: Din Djarin didn’t set out to build a clan, but the child cooed and whined and telekinetically shoved their way into his heart. A clan of two is more than enough to fill that old bounty hunter’s heart, even if the womp rat doesn’t exactly take up much space.Said womp rat isn’t the only kid with special abilities, though, and every child deserves a chance to grow up safe and loved.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Finn (Star Wars), Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Poe Dameron (Star Wars), Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Rey (Star Wars), Cara Dune & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Finn & Rey (Star Wars), more and romantic relationships tbd
Comments: 375
Kudos: 1430
Collections: Movies





	1. rub-a-dub-dub, baby in a tub!

**Author's Note:**

> i loved the mandalorian and i love rey and that's my only excuse for this fic!!! 
> 
> disclaimers include: i did not see rise of skywalker yet but i am going to shamelessly use some of the spoilers i heard about for my own purposes, i'm not sure how far i'll take this plot-wise or if it'll even really get a plot, i have very little planned, and i do not give a damn about the star wars timeline and it will be bent, molded, and shaped into what i need it to be!!!! 
> 
> thank you all for stopping by - i really hope you enjoy this and have as much fun as i'm about to have writing it <3

Din, despite his best efforts, loves the kid. If he’s being honest, he was already head over heels for the tiny creature before he tried to give them back to the Imperials - it was his own stubbornness that kept him from accepting that until it was almost too late. Part of him thinks he won’t ever forgive himself for that decision. It’s a heavy shame he carries with him, but lingering on it does him nor the child any good. Din can only move forward and protect them, and perhaps an opportunity for further atonement will show itself some day. 

For now, he focuses on keeping the two of them fed, relatively content, and safe from the Imps. It’s certainly enough to keep him occupied for the foreseeable future, seeing as they get run off a planet every time they try to settle somewhere for longer than a week or two. 

The baby, attuned to his mood in a way that can only be explained by his strange abilities, whines and splashes miserably. They’re clearly aware that Din’s attention was straying from his task and is unhappy about it. 

“Are you feeling neglected?” Din asks dryly, picking up the scraggy washcloth and starting to scrub behind the kid’s disproportionately large ears. Almost immediately, they start to purr and lean into Din’s touch - appeased for the moment. “You’re spoiled. Like a little princess.” 

Splashing some more, they purr louder and look rather pleased with themself. Din sighs - and it comes out fondly even though he means to sound exasperated. The kid is as clean as they’ll get at this point - they have a strange smell to them that must be natural for their species, as Din hasn’t found a soap strong enough to get rid of it. He sniffs them and doesn’t smell anything too putrid or rank, which is good enough for him. 

He’s repurposed the small sink from the ship’s tiny kitchen as a bathtub and it works well enough. The kid is too little to use the shower on their own, so the sink is the next best option. There’s been a few times, after a particularly long hunt or tiring escape, where Din has jumped in the shower with the kid and hastily scrubbed them both down to save time and energy - forgoing washing his face for a day doesn’t matter much when any acne is hidden by his helmet, and a shower is much less tiring than a full bath for a rambunctious infant-toddler-old man. 

Bath time, clearly one of the kid’s favorite activities, is a rare event considering how messy and exhausting they can be. It’s a luxury to indulge in now, when they’ve been unbothered by the many, many hunters on their trail for not nearly long enough - but when else would they get the chance to? 

Spending so much time on a ship can’t be good for a child’s development. Din can’t do much about the environment, currently, so he does his best to ensure the kid gets at least a few moments of carefree fun a day, when they can spare a few minutes to play or to cuddle - not that Din would ever admit to cuddling to anyone outside of the Razor Crest crew.

The crew being him and the kid, with no foreseeable hiring opportunities or positions opening in the future. A clan of two is about perfect, now that Din has found his rhythm in childcare. 

The tub is a war zone of splashing suds as the child shrieks with happiness, smiling toothily at Din who is helpless to do anything but smile back. The kid can’t see it, obviously, but the way they grin wider and shriek louder means they get the message. 

Leaning over the sink and petting his head lightly, Din asks, “What do you think about Ka’ar? Ka’ar?” 

The kid’s smile drops and they whine immediately, splashing coming to a slow halt as the whine grows in pitch. 

“Another dud, huh? What about Syla? That’s a nice name.” 

The whine gets even louder, and Din holds up his hands, surrendering easily. “Okay, okay. I get it. Start talking so you can tell me what you want it to be and I’ll stop guessing.” 

It’s frivolous to use his helmet’s HUD to take baby photos, but Din does it anyway. A pouting baby covered in bubbles, eyes watery and lip jutting out - it’s cuter than it has any right to be, and Din is mortal, after all. 

When the pout continues, Din shrugs and picks them up. They’re immediately laid on top of the fluffiest of their towels for a brisk drying. Din scrubs them until they’re completely dry, hushing them lightly when they start to whine. 

“Yes, I know. I’m the cruelest being in the galaxy - how dare I keep you from catching cold?” He scrubs them one last time, tweaks the little one’s nose, and proceeds to wrap them up in his recently-cleaned robes. The baby pouts and huffs and is generally uncooperative, but Din has been doing this long enough that he knows how to get them snug and cozy again. 

The pouting is indicative of how close to bedtime they must be. The kid is a happy baby until they get tired - then his sweet little child turns into a mean, angry tyke. 

Din pulls him up into the cradle of his arms and gives him his free hand to play with. It’s immediately repurposed as a chew toy, tiny teeth nibbling on calluses. 

“Time for bed, little princeling. In the opinion of your most humble servant, your highness is a few more minutes away from a loud tantrum. Hm?” He nods at the babbling he receives. “Yes, of course. Only the finest blankets for you, my prince.” 

He wishes it were true. He’s accumulated enough to make a fine little nest for the kid, but all of it has been acquired as add-ons to random deals with the locals and mechanics he comes across. “Fix my ship and give me those pillows, and I’ll pay you extra,” type of deals. It means he’s created a mishmash of soft bedding, all smelling faintly of motor oil or hay, depending on where the jobs took them. 

His tiny companion has few, if any, complaints, which makes Din feel better about the subpar accommodations he’s been providing for a growing child. There’s never any fuss when Din goes to place them within the small, makeshift bedroom. Laying them down to sleep is relatively easy, assuming the kid isn’t too cranky and assuming that Din isn’t trying to go somewhere without them. 

The kid, fifty years old but barely out of infanthood, clearly has some abandonment issues. 

Tonight, the kid is already dozing off in Din’s arms, and they’re more than willing to curl up and let Din tuck them in. They say a sleepy sort of “hmph” when Din moves away, but no whines are heard. Their eyes fall shut before Din’s back in the cockpit. 

Time is strange in space when there isn’t any natural sunlight to help your body’s internal rhythm along. In general, Din is awake through one or two of the kid’s sleep cycles - partially because they’re a baby who needs significantly more sleep than Din does and partially because Din’s never managed to keep a consistent sleep schedule since he started hunting alone. 

Now, even though he recognizes it would be a good opportunity for rest, he isn’t quite ready. Maybe in an hour or so more, but his mind is struggling to find calm when there’s so much to think about. 

The kid, first off - their powers, their lack of familial history, why the Imperials - a dying breed - are pushing and pushing to get them, their age and what that means for theirs and Din’s relationship, to name a few. They’re a veritable fountain that spews wondering and stressful thoughts, if Din thought too long about them. 

Logistics, too - how much money does he actually have, how much of it has to go to fuel, how much food they have, how long can they coast before they’re in danger. These are scarier thoughts, but practicality is easier to conceptualize if nothing else. 

The worst, unfortunately, are thoughts and worry surrounding Din himself - how is he meant to watch over something so small, the decision of whether or not to take a bounty from Greef when he has delicate cargo, his inability to provide adequately and what that means about him as a person and as a Mandalorian, his remaining grief over the covert that may or may not be well, the fear he feels when he thinks about the many, many ways he’s let down those he cares for - 

He inhales deeply and leans against the steering console, closing his eyes. A few more breaths lets him find his center - another one, then one more, and he’s calmer. 

Most of his worries are useless, functionally. He can worry about how much money is going to ship repairs all he wants, but that won’t change the fact that the ship needs repaired and he will need to spend the credits. He can worry about why the Imps want the kid so badly, but worrying won’t change anything about their situation. 

His self-doubt, too, is nothing. Fear and uncertainty regarding himself is a distraction with no real purpose or reason for hanging around other than self-pity. Any issue he has with himself won’t be solved by sitting around and moping. Resolution can only be found through action. 

He opens his eyes and starts plotting their next route. It’s awhiles out, closer to the inner rim than he normally prefers and farther than he’d like to go from the relative safe haven of Nevarro. Greef has been generous with sending him the highest-paying low-risk jobs, though, and his request for Din to take this job would’ve been hard to refuse without losing said generosity. 

The target is an ex-spy from the war who’s been dipping his toes into the Hutts’ business - making a Mr. Anpa Pleit an extremely valuable wanted man. Rumors say he isn’t much to speak of in hand-to-hand combat, but he’s slippery. 

Greef had said: “Expect to spend at least a few months on this job - I’ll send you milk runs if they pop up, but you’re going to want to find something planetside in the meantime if you want to keep the baby fed.” 

“Find something planetside,” Din repeats with a sigh. He finishes plotting their course and lets the ship’s autopilot adjust as needed. “As if there’s an abundance of wealth and jobs to go around on Jakku.” 


	2. jakku: tourist coldspot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din and the child arrive on Jakku. Din's target is closer than expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again~ happy new year! i tried to have this chapter out before it was actually 2020, but it wasn't meant to be. so the first thing of 2020 i'm doing is drinking a glass of water and posting this~ 
> 
> i hope you guys enjoy! we're still in the "exposition" phase but i assure u rey is showing up soon and family feels will follow shortly after. can't wait to mess up the timeline and canon of star wars as much as possible i'm having a blast so far guys <3 
> 
> hope everyone is having a good start to their year - and most importantly, thank you to everyone who left kind words and/or kudos on the last chapter <3

Desert planets aren’t all that different - once you’ve seen one pile of sand, it tends to look like every other pile of sand. The only truly profitable ventures on planets like Jakku are moisture-farming, but Din doesn’t have the time, money, or temperament to get a waterfarm built and implemented before he and the kid would starve to death. He also doesn’t have the temperament to deal with the local corrupt governments that try to intimidate moisture-farmers into quitting so as to keep scarcity in place. Or, well - he technically does have the temperament to deal with anyone, assuming capturing or killing are options. 

In this case, neither are. They need to keep a low-profile until he gets an idea of where Pleit is hiding out, which means any assassinations - no matter how well-meaning or useful - are off the table. 

Din tugs the makeshift hood over the baby’s ears once more. The damn things are almost impossible to keep covered, what with the way they stick out and move with their mood. The baby’s own obstinance doesn’t help matters, as they wiggle and whine while Din tries to get as much of their skin covered as possible. 

“Hush,” He says warningly. “You won’t like getting sunburned. This is for your own good.” 

They clearly don’t agree and reach up once more to push the fabric away. Din sighs and readjusts his hold so his free hand can be used to hold the hood down firmly. 

They are, once again, without any kind of pram. The last battle on Nevarro caused the destruction of Kuill’s masterpiece - a fluid, comfortable item the child used only once. Din, had he the money, would have commissioned a craftsperson to create a new one. Times being what they are, he would rather not have such an expensive item while on Jakku anyway. It’d be scrapped within the week, taken apart by whatever locals could get their hands on it and sell to the outpost for rations. 

A pram that could survive a desert environment, though, would be an immense help. Din’s at a disadvantage while holding the child, and that’s not including situations like now where he has to use both arms to protect the tiny thing. No one on Jakku is going to be able to cause much of a problem for him, considering they’re all poorly fed and dehydrated at their best - but having his hands free would make him feel better, at least. 

Jakku, unlike other desert planets, doesn’t have much in the way of civilization. Even Tatooine has some markets and villages scattered, in addition to the Tusken’s settlements. Jakku is almost empty in comparison with its homes built sporadically within scattered scrap. The only formal organization that Din is aware of comes in the way of the Niima Outpost, which is the only logical place to start his search. 

The outpost itself is crowded, and a long line of dry-skinned, dull-eyed residents stand in front of a stand that must be where scavengers can trade their findings for credits and rations. Most in line are natives - Teedos, if Din’s research on the way over was correct - and even more appear to be similarly reptilian in nature, going off of the tails he would trip over if he wasn’t so well-trained. There are a few humanoids, though they’re so covered by cloth and fabric to protect them from the sun and sand that it’s hard to tell for certain. 

A small bar with a visibly glitching droid is over to the left of the trading station, with only the most well-off seated. Din can tell by the way their skin isn’t flaky that they’re well-hydrated, and he can tell by their raucous, energetic laughter that they have never had to scavenge for rations. These are those lucky few who were born off-world and set by the Empire to be the go-between for the scavengers. Once the Empire “fell,” no one came to arrest or replace them and business continued as usual, where business meant “obvious corruption that no local was in a place to do anything about.” 

It’s a story Din’s not unfamiliar with. The poorer planets, the desert planets, the slave trade planets - the Core has never cared about them, regardless of leadership.

The memories are unkind and he has a job to do, so he ends his observation and enters the room fully while ignoring the eyes that immediately latch onto him as he walks to the bar. In their defense, how could they not stare? It’s a planet of scavengers and diggers and thieves, and his beskar would feed any of them for three lifetimes. 

Din can’t fault any of them - nor can he see them as a threat. Those who aren’t malnourished, dehydrated, and aged early by the backbreaking labor are too complacent to cause him any real trouble. With this in mind, he unwraps the child and lets their ears poke up curiously. The outpost, at the very least, provides shade. 

They stare around with wide eyes, wriggling in Din’s hold. He squeezes them warningly, and they settle - mostly. They have more energy in their tiny body than Din’s had in his entire life, so there’s always at least a little bit of scurrying and staring and moving and touching things.

This, clearly, isn’t a place for a baby to touch and explore. The outpost is a mess of patchy fixes, and Din sees nails standing straight up and waiting for small baby feet to step on. He tightens his hold on the child and pulls him closer to his chest. 

There’s a seat at the bar that will let him angle his stool to face most of the rich bastards laughing and demanding more of what’s on tap. It’s easy for him to slip onto the seat and wave the bartender down.

One of those rich bastards - a pale human with coiffed, pale blonde hair, dust-coated black boots, and, most notably, a black jacket with its left lapel ripped off - turns to face Din back and makes a face. After a moment, Din belatedly realizes the man is raising an eyebrow. His hair is so fine and pale that Din hadn’t realized he  _ had _ any eyebrows to raise. 

Din tilts his head in acknowledgement, but he does no more. 

The bartender droid rolls over - it’s shaped like most R2 units, but unlike the astromechs he’s familiar with, it has short, stubby arms that don’t appear incredibly useful for bartending. It asks, “What can serve you today, sir and-or madam and-or Mx.?” in a voice that sounds more like static than anything else. 

“Do you have broth?” 

The droid whirs for a second. “Clarification requested.” 

Din hates droids. 

“Broth. Soup? Liquid food of some sort?” He waves down at the child, who gives a toothy grin in return. “Something a small child could eat?” 

The droid disappears without another word. Din doesn’t sigh, but only because he’s on a job. 

The blonde Imp elbows his companion - another blonde, though his is more straw-yellow than the first. He, too, is clad in aged and poorly censored Imperial garb, though his boots are still shiny and clean. An oddity, considering how much dust is covering every countertop in the outpost. “Have you ever seen a Mandalorian before?” 

Straw blonde responds, “The man’s clearly busy. Leave him be.” 

“Come on, don’t tell me you’re not curious. Pleit, it’s a Mandalorian!” 

“And he’s busy. Don’t be so rude, Demora. ” 

Din doesn’t freeze, but only because he’s on a job. 

It can’t be that easy. 

Second blonde, though, looks extremely similar to how Greef’s client described him. The straw blonde hair combined with the lanky stature and the high forehead - it’s all a close match. 

What kind of spy is stupid enough to use his real name, though? 

The answer to that is a really stupid one, and if Din is very, very lucky, he might have met one just that stupid. Considering Pleit and his companion are chugging drinks that’ll only dehydrate them in this kind of weather, he thinks the odds might be in his favor today. 

He adjusts the kid’s position in his arm, ensuring his other is completely free. He cocks his head so he’s looking at both of them, and he lets his helmet scan them for information. It will take a few minutes to check their faces against his HUD and confirm Pleit’s identity, seeing as his helmet has to remotely connect to the Razor Crest to access the whole holonet and, subsequently, the bounty hunters’ database. 

The puck-less jobs are inconvenient at best and dangerous at worst, but they’re always interesting and tend to pay the best. The child coos loudly, as if in agreement with and as evidence supporting Din’s thoughts. 

Both blondes look down at the child when their coo reaches them. The first blonde says, cockily, “You don’t come to a bar if you don’t want conversation.” 

“You’re being horrifically rude - “ 

“Mando - welcome to our little slice of paradise,” He says with a wide, false grin. His teeth are somehow whiter than his skin and his nearly-nonexistent eyebrows. “I’m Joex Demora, and this is Pleit. We’re the closest thing Jakku has to a police force.” 

“Generous, Joex,” Pleit drawls. His stiff posture speaks of a military background, but the accent and superiority means Din’s money is on him having been Core-born and raised. “We’re, if anything, a wooden stick against a veritable armory powered by this cesspool of madness and desperation.” 

Definitely Core-raised.

The droid returns with a cup - to Din’s surprise, it’s a cup clearly meant for a child. A little worn, but in the way that means it was well-loved. It’s a small, cream-colored thing with a spout to drink from and handles on both sides for tiny hands to grip. It seems out of place, but no moreso than the child’s presence already is. 

The droid - modified and aged in such a way it’s hard to tell exactly what kind of unit it was before it was forced into its current role - carefully perches the cup in front of them and says, “Bantha milk is appropriate nourishment for children.” 

As far as Din can tell, it is what the droid says it is. It’s also non-standard speech for a bartender droid, which is telling of what type of unit it must have been before being scrapped and refitted. He says, “Thank you. What’s your designation?” 

“K8-17, sir.” 

“K8,” He says slowly. After a pause, he adds, “Thank you.” 

The droid bows what passes for a head and continues with its work of cleaning glasses and stacking them precariously. Din, meanwhile, is already helping the kid get a grip on the cup. They squeal in delight when they recognize food, and they greedily start sucking it down. 

This, again, catches the Imperials’ attention. Pleit spins so he’s also facing Din, nearly knocking his glass over as he does so. Demora steadies it with a snicker. 

Pleit leans in like he wants to share a secret, and whisper-asks, “Excuse me if this is rude, Mandalorian, but what species is your charge? I haven’t seen its kind before.” 

“They’re a Mandalorian.” 

He chuckles. With a condescending tone, he chides, “Mandalorian is not a species, now is it?” 

“Isn’t it?” Din places the baby carefully on the counter, pointing in the way that indicates he wants the child to stay put. They’re never happy about it, but with a whole cup of milk to work through, they’re much more tolerant this time. “Tell me, Pleit. What brings you to Jakku? You’re new, aren’t you?” 

Pleit blinks. It’s almost as obvious a tell as his shiny new boots that he can’t have found on Jakku. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking that? You’re the one who just arrived.” 

Din cocks his head to the side, waiting. Pleit mirrors him, eyes sharpening. 

It’s a move that, on someone powerful, would be at least somewhat intimidating. On this lanky, too-clean-for-this-planet weakling, it’s a curiosity more than anything else. After his eyes bore into Din’s helmet for a long minute, he says, with a strange tone, “Or, well. I fear I may already know why you’re here. I wasn’t aware there was a bounty yet.” 

Din places his hand on his blaster and says, “So this shouldn’t surprise you too much, then. Tell me why you’re here, and if your story’s interesting enough, maybe I won’t freeze you in carbonite for the ride out.” 

“Unfortunately, I can’t allow that to happen. I still don’t have what I came for, and  _ I _ don’t tolerate failure.” Pleit’s lips twitch at that - an implied joke, if Din had to guess, but he can’t pin down where the joke would be. “Demora - We’ve talked about what’s expected.” 

Din barely has time to fling an arm in front of his child when Demora is throwing his glass - an effective distraction, unfortunately. Pleit is already darting outside while Demora darts forward, a vibroblade, of all things, in hand. He’s fast but sloppy, and Din easily grabs him around the neck and slams him to the ground. The blade clatters a bit away, and one of the Teedo snags it and pockets it quickly. 

Free scrap, after all. 

K8 has returned at the commotion, whirring about safety protocols and how fighting is not tolerated in this establishment. It isn’t Din’s favorite option, but it’s the best he’s got right now, when he wasn’t expecting to run into the target so quickly. 

Din says, “Oi, K8 - “ and the droid turns obligingly to face him. He points at the baby, still suckling on the cup, and says forcefully, “Watch the kid - protect it. Can you do this?” 

K8’s head twitches oddly, and it says, “Certainly, sir and-or madam and-or Mx.” 

Din generally hates droids, but he’s learned they have their uses. In this case, it’s extremely lucky that most people aren’t as thorough in reprogramming droids as Kuill was with reprogramming IG-11. 

K8, a glitching, shoddily reprogrammed nurse droid, cradles the baby like a pro without spilling a drop of milk. Din’s out the door in moments, Pleit just out of sight. 


	3. the tiniest scavenger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din waits again, but Rey seems content to just stare at him. He asks, haltingly, “So. Where are - Are you alone? Who looks out for you?” 
> 
> Rey puffs up proudly. She puts her hands on her hips and says, “I’m alone! Mama and Papa will come back. But Rey take care of herself until then, they said. I find scrap!” She holds up her bag for emphasis, giving him a bright, toothy grin. 
> 
> She’s missing one of her front teeth. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new year! instead of doing anything i was supposed to today, i wrote a new chapter. starting 2020 off right with my priorities in order, clearly. (i apologize in advance that this will be a rarity - i doubt i'll be able to keep up with posting 2-3 days in a row like i'm doing right now lol) 
> 
> thank you again for your nice words and kudos - i hope you like this chapter! i liked writing this one a lot - rey is. precious to me <3

Pleit is fast - Greef had called him slippery, and Din heartily agrees. 

A desert, in theory, doesn’t have that many places to hide. There’s sand, and then there’s more sand, and maybe a hut or two. If this was Tatooine, which has markets and villages and Tusken settlements, Din would understand why he kept losing the target. There’s people to get lost in, loud hagglers to distract, and too many nooks and crannies to check. 

Jakku should be easy enough - an empty, barren wasteland with little to no cover is a bounty hunter’s dream when they’re on the hunt. 

Yet Pleit keeps coming damn close to evading him. Din can barely see the man despite the clear weather - something about his movements makes it hard to keep focusing on him, and he nearly loses Pleit until his HUD locks in again. He’s grateful, now, for the pictures he took at the outpost. It means his systems are able to track him when Din’s own eyes might have failed him. They’re doing so with unnerving frequency, in this desert. 

Pleit’s stamina is admirable, considering how lanky and weak he looks. Din would be more impressed with both his stamina and evasiveness if it wasn’t inconveniencing the chance for Din to get a really good payout. At one point, Pleit dives behind a dune and when Din heads over to it, a blur of movement behind him has him spinning around - Pleit, somehow, pops up from behind a hill in the opposite direction of where the dune was. Din has to backpedal as fast as his body will let him to keep him in sight. 

Din’s heart thumps unsteadily just once. He’s not sure if it’s from unease or excitement. 

Sand, sand, more sand - the view’s nothing to write home about, but as the chase continues, the tip of a starship starts to peek over the horizon. It’s clear that Pleit is leading them towards it. He forces himself to move faster - letting Pleit get off planet while Din’s own ship is tucked away to avoid tempting scavengers would be incredibly detrimental to his wallet. 

The closer they get, the more Din can start to identify the ship - a TIE fighter, which is downright baffling. Pleit was a spy, actual loyalties undetermined, but he was well-known enough for being a spy that it’s unlikely the remnants of the Empire would outfit him with a TIE. A spy is a spy, and even if they’re useful to whatever cause, most would hesitate before giving them anything worthwhile. 

It’s outdated - nowhere near the pristine newness of Moff Gideon’s before Din destroyed it - but clearly in decent enough shape to fly if Pleit is sprinting towards it with all the desperation of a man who knows his days are numbered. 

He’s barely a meter from the ship, fiddling with his wrist and what must be the remote start, when Din gets close enough to lasso him in. He uses his whipcord thrower, likely the most useful tool in his collection, to wrap around Pleit’s legs and send him tumbling to the ground. His head slams against the ship on the way down, but his continued struggles on the way down indicate he’s mostly uninjured. 

Din, a little winded from the extended chase, takes his time walking forward. Pleit frantically tugs at the whipcord but it has no give, and Din tightens it as a warning when Pleit tries to stand up. 

Reeling in the slack as he walks, Din takes in the entirety of the TIE. It’s parked, rather cleverly, in a steep valley that keeps it concealed from every other direction. Considering how close it is to the outpost, that must be the only reason it hasn’t been completely scrapped yet. 

Din moves in closer to haul Pleit up to his feet, slapping cuffs around the man’s wrist, and then he sees his initial analysis might not have been correct. The ship hasn’t been completely scrapped, yet, but there is one panel close to the ground that’s been ripped off. It’s almost completely hidden by a small mound of sand, but the broken machinery is sparking just enough for it to have caught Din’s eyes. 

Din says, “Looks like you have a visitor.” 

Pleit spits out sand and says, wheezing slightly, “What are you talking about?” His face is alarmingly red, likely from a mixture of physical exertion and the sun beating overhead. His pale skin wasn’t made for desert climates, obviously, but rather the controlled indoors of a wealthy planet. Din almost worries the man won’t make it back to the Razor Crest for transport. 

He points at the broken panel obligingly, and Pleit’s face somehow turns redder. 

“Not as good of a hiding spot as you thought it’d be?” 

“Only one scavenger’s small enough to make it through that hole,” Pleit mutters. “I should’ve known. All this time, under my  _ goddamn _ nose - ” 

“Come on.” Din tightens his grip on the man, preparing himself for the long, painstaking process of dragging the man all the way back to his ship. He’ll stop to get the kid, thank the droid with a generous tip, and they’ll be on their way. 

There’s the sound of something clanking against metal, though, and Din turns to face the ship. The sound of pressure lifting, gas escaping - before he’s consciously aware, his body’s shoving both of them backwards to avoid getting crushed by the TIE’s main entrance opening. 

Standing there is a small humanoid, holding a bag almost as big as itself that’s filled to the brim with metal and supplies. The scavenger, obviously. 

It’s tiny, with half of its face covered by large goggles that must have been ripped out of a helmet of some sort. It startles backwards when it sees them, and a high-pitched, young voice yells, “This is my haul! Get away!” 

Din holds up the hand that isn’t on Pleit and says, “I’m not here for your haul. Just to apprehend this man.” 

“Get away!” It - she, Din thinks, seeing the long hair tied into buns behind her head - repeats loudly. “My haul!” 

“Okay,” Din says agreeably. He turns to walk away - the scavenger is barely more than a scrap of fabric. She won’t be able to hurt him, even if his back is to her. 

Pleit, though, digs his heels in suddenly. He’s still red, still carrying fury at his destroyed ship, but he tilts himself down and gives an obviously forced smile to the girl. He says, “My dear, was this really necessary? If you needed financial assistance - “ 

“No!” She yells louder, clutching her bag. “Shut up!” 

“I would have helped you gladly. We’re family, Rey - “ 

“Shut up! You’re a liar!” She backs up farther into the ship. 

Pleit keeps talking, voice pitched softly and coaxingly, but Din takes in this Rey’s posture instead. The way she’s clutching her bag - her haul - is defensive and as protective as an animal guarding its food. There’s anger there, in the way her eyes are pinched and the tone of her voice. The most prevalent emotion, though, is fear. Her eyes are darting for escape routes, there’s a wavering to her voice that can’t be explained by her age, and there’s a miniscule tremble to her shoulders and hands. 

Her goggles aren’t tinted enough to hide the fact that her eyes are watering, too. 

Din doesn’t hesitate. He brings his hands up and slams them down on Pleit’s head mercilessly, and the man collapses to the ground without any further fanfare. Rey startles back and her eyes widen with interest. 

“I’m going to take him away,” Din says clearly. He holds his hands up - empty and as non-threateningly as he can manage. “Okay?” 

Rey nods quickly. She watches, still with those large, curious eyes as Din hauls his bounty up onto his shoulders to carry. It’s going to make the trek back to his ship even more intolerable. 

“Um. Um!” Rey says, and she darts forward off the ship. It’s impressive how much she’s able to carry without falling over - it’s more impressive how fast she can move with such a heavy load. It’s disproportionate to how much a child her age should be able to carry, but Din won’t claim to be an expert in how children’s muscles can develop when they are forced into manual labor for survival at a young age.

He waits, and she eventually stops a meter or so away from him. She briefly looks at him before abruptly ducking her head. Her feet swirl patterns in the sand as she repeats, “Um.” 

Her abrupt shyness is curious, considering how easily she started screaming when she feared her haul was in danger of being stolen. But she won’t look up at him, and she shuffles around, and her tiny, dry hands fiddle with the strap of her bag. The bag looks like if it were to get snagged on anything, it’d immediately disintegrate rather than bother with the effort of ripping. 

Din looks down and waits more. When she continues to stay silent, he asks, “Yes, Rey?” 

Still not looking at him, she says, “Um. Where is he going?” 

“This one?” He points at Pleit’s unconscious form, and Rey nods furiously. “He’s going to jail. Off-planet.” 

“Jail?” 

Right. Jakku doesn’t exactly have a traditional law enforcement system. Din clarifies, “Jail is where criminals - bad people - go so they can’t continue to do bad things.” 

Rey’s head darts up to stare at him with wide, awed eyes. She says, “He’s bad! So he goes to jail?” 

“Yes. My job is to find bad people and take them there.” 

“Whoa.”

Din waits again, but Rey seems content to just stare at him. He asks, haltingly, “So. Where are - Are you alone? Who looks out for you?” 

Rey puffs up proudly. She puts her hands on her hips and says, “I’m alone! Mama and Papa will come back. But Rey take care of herself until then, they said. I find scrap!” She holds up her bag for emphasis, giving him a bright, toothy grin. 

She’s missing one of her front teeth. 

Din drops Pleit, uncaring of where he ends up. Then, he kneels down in front of Rey so they’re at about the same height. Those big, curious brown eyes stare at him. 

Her story isn’t a new one, unfortunately. A child abandoned by their parents on a planet with few resources, either for the parents’ own survival or for the child’s sake, is a story he’s come across many times. Normally, though, they’re not so young. He’s come across many bounty hunters with a similar, if not identical story. 

Din isn’t stupid enough to reach out to touch a young girl who was so fearful of another older man. He holds out a hand though and asks, quietly, “Rey, can you show me the way back to the trading outpost? I’ll buy you some water if you do.” 

Her eyes light up. “Yes! I can do that! I love water.” She takes his hand and immediately starts dragging at him, sighing loudly when he has to lean over to pick up Pleit. 

As it’s a desert, there’s not much to do on the walk back. They don’t talk much - for the most part, Rey hums under her breath - nothing that resembles much of a song, just noise to make noise. Occasionally, Din will ask her a question. 

“How long have you been a scavenger?” 

“Very long. I’m very good at it, because I do it every day for a lot of days and Teedo says, um, I’m very good for a human since I’m very small.” 

“Do you have your own shelter?” 

“I did! But um. Larkashe took it. I was gonna stay where I got my haul but it’s too nice and Larkashe will take it again and he’s real real big. Like, REAL big.” 

“What are your parents like?” 

“Big! Papa is very tall and Mama is even taller. They wear orange! Orange is my favorite color. I have a doll that’s orange and looks like Mama and I have Papa’s helmet and look - my goggles are from it! So I’m just like Papa. I want to fly like they do because if you fly you get to wear orange and the sky is so big and there’s no sand, nope, no sand.” 

As they approach the outpost, Rey’s tiny, sweaty hand still raised up and clutching his, Din wonders if he can fit one more cot into the Razor Crest. 


	4. a glass of water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din buys Rey that glass of water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> u know how i was like "don't get used to me posting so frequently!!!" - i stand by that still even though i clearly am lying a bit. 
> 
> thank you!! so much for the nice words and kudos!!!! it makes my day when i get an email that's about a comment and it's someone saying Nice Things. the nice reception this has received is definitely one of the reasons i'm churning out content as fast as i am lol 
> 
> if you'd like to chat about this fic or the mandalorian at all, i'm mutalune on tumblr as well 
> 
> thanks again - i hope you enjoy!

The outpost is mysteriously empty when they walk in. Rey doesn’t seem too bothered, but it strikes Din as odd when he compares it to the hubbub that was there when he left. 

He immediately looks over at the bar. K8 is standing and still holding the child, looking as if it hasn’t moved since Din left almost an hour ago now. The kid looks grumpy, but it’s the grumpiness of a baby who missed their nap and doesn’t appear to have been caused by anything serious. 

The only person still in the outpost is someone who looks like he belongs in an ocean rather than a planet as arid as Jakku. He’s standing behind the trading counter and appears to be organizing piles of scrap. 

Rey lets go of Din’s hand and goes running up to him. “Plutt! Plutt, I have scrap. Good scrap!” 

“Is that so? Bring it here, I’ll be the judge of that.” 

Din leaves her be and walks over to the bar, where his kid immediately starts whining and holding out grabby hands for him. After Din deposits Pleit on the floor within grabbing distance, K8 obligingly hands them over. It says, “Sir and-or madam and-or Mx., your son and-or daughter and-or child was well-behaved and drank two cups of milk and burped thrice.” 

Din slides over money and says dryly, “Details noted. Thanks. Keep the change.” 

He has to relinquish his right hand for perusal, as the kid babbles and grips it excitedly as if they’re telling him about their day. Din hums and wiggles his fingers, amused when they tighten their grip and choose their favorite for the day - the middle finger, it looks like - to start gnawing on. 

“You might need some teething toys. Next stop, okay?” He wriggles his fingers again, charmed as always by the kid’s giggling. 

Across the room, a shout erupts. “What! It’s good scrap - Plutt, no, it’s good! It’s shiny and not broken and good and almost new and and - “ 

“Five packs, take it or leave it, kid. I don’t need your scrap that bad.” 

Din looks over just in time to see Rey stomp her feet angrily, fists clenched and face puffed up in a furious pout. “Ten packs! Ten packs, it’s shiny scrap! No one ever has shiny, always dull. Shiny! Ten packs!” 

“Five - don’t try to barter with me. You’re nothing.” 

Rey growls. Din’s impressed, if only because he didn’t know humans could make that kind of noise. She stomps closer to the counter, reaches up-up-up on her tiptoes, and manages to slam a hand on it. She stretches higher up and hisses, “Ten. Packs.” 

Din cocks his head to the side and stares. Because not only does Plutt say, “Yeah, that’s what I said! Ten packs and ten packs only,” but Rey’s feet aren’t touching the ground.

A tiny, scrappy girl is hovering just a few inches so she can reach the counter and look Plutt in the eye. 

They exchange goods, Rey’s soon empty bag held open to take the ten boxes of rations. Plutt pauses before dropping them in, brow furrowing in thought, but Rey shakes the bag for emphasis and says, “Ten!” and he drops them in without further issue. 

Her bag, refilled, looks almost as heavy as it had with the metal she was carrying - a good haul indeed. She puts her bag across her tiny body, and then she’s darting over to Din. She cocks her head at the baby, who waves - their latest trick they like to show off at any opportunity, thanks to Greef. 

Rey looks back up to Din before abruptly turning shy again, hands clasping together. She says, “Um, you said. You said I’d get water?” 

Din inclines his head and adjusts his grip on the child. He takes a seat and waves at her to take the stool next to him. When she has difficulty climbing on, he asks, “Do you need help?” 

“No!” she declares. She scrambles and clutches and drags herself until she is seated upright, breathing heavily but grinning proudly. Once she’s not in danger of falling off, she pushes her goggles up onto her head and beams. “Hi.” 

Din barely bites back a chuckle. “Hi.” 

“Water?” 

“You heard her, K8. A water for the girl.” 

K8 pulls a glass from the rack hanging above their heads, wipes it clean with a rag, and places it in front of Rey. Her excitement is visible, from her wide eyes to the way she’s bouncing in her seat. The angle isn’t right for him to see what K8 does behind the bar, but there’s a whirring noise and the sound of a lock clicking open. It reemerges with a dented plastic bottle, which is then cracked open and carefully poured into Rey’s glass. 

Din places credits on the bar. K8 doesn’t move until Din places enough to double what he thought the price was. At that, it takes the money and says, “Enjoy, sir and-or madam and-or Mx.,” before rolling away. 

Rey stares at it for a moment, then turns soulful brown eyes to Din. There’s more sand on her head than hair, her lips are cracked, and her face is covered in freckles and sunburn and tan blotches. It occurs to Din that she may never have seen so much water in one place before. Not if the Imps running the planet keep a bottle of water under lock and key. 

Din nods encouragingly, which is all it takes for Rey to turn back to the glass with awe. She grabs it, not with the sloppy, heavy-handed grip he would expect of someone her age, but with the reverence he’s seen priests handle holy objects with. One finger dips into it, and her face breaks out into a breathtaking smile. 

When Rey takes her first sip, the baby shrieks happily. Din rubs their brow affectionately, used to the way their mood is a direct response to their environment. If Din’s calm, the baby is calm. If there are happy people around, the baby is happy. 

Rey looks very, very happy. She smacks her lips together after half of the glass is finished, and she says, “It’s good. I love water.” 

“Yes. You don’t get water too often, then?” 

“No. When Mama and Papa were with me, sometimes. But water’s lots of money, and the H-packets are not. You have to have H-packets,” She says, suddenly stern. “Food and H-packets so Rey stays strong, Mama said. You must need lots since you’re so big.” 

“Mm.” 

H-packets must be the hydration supplement included in the rations the scavengers trade for. At least her mother taught her the basics of survival before abandoning her. 

The kid reaches out to Rey, waving again. She cocks her head to the side, and then she holds up the glass ever-so-carefully. “Babies need water. Does your baby need water?” 

Were Din a different man, he thinks he might not be so moved by finding kindness and generosity in a girl who was abandoned to grow and die in a wasteland like Jakku. He is Din Djarin, though, and his heart aches for Rey. 

“That’s your water,” he says gently. “You earned it. I’ll get the kid some water, but they’re okay for now.” 

Rey’s lips purse. “But it’s a baby. And it’s wrinkly, like the old people who never have enough water or H-packets.” 

“They always look like this. It’s okay.” 

She still looks skeptical, but she shrugs and finishes the glass. She then shoves her hand into the glass to swipe up as much of the remaining moisture as possible, licking her fingers after and then sighing in contentment. “Thank you for the water.” 

Din inclines his head. The kid is still waving to Rey, who finally waves back. They shriek in delight, and Rey smiles and mimics their noise - very accurately, to her credit. They startle in response, and then she does it again. For a moment, they just stare wide-eyed at her before suddenly giggling loudly. Rey, too, dissolves into giggles. 

At their feet, Pleit shifts - just slightly. Just a little bit. He’s not awake yet, but he’s on his way to it. It’s enough to let Din know that they’ve lingered long enough, and he should be getting the kid back to the ship before nightfall. Rey ransacking Pleit’s ship is an anomaly due to her youth, as most scavengers would at least wait until nightfall before taking a crack at such a nice ship. Easier to avoid the less sensitive sensors that can’t catch as much movement in the dark, more likely that the visitor isn’t returning until morning given how cold and dark it would get, and probably a dozen other reasons that Din can’t think of off the top of his head since he didn’t grow up in a desert. 

He says, “Rey, I have to take this man back to my ship. Would you like to accompany me?” 

She cocks her head to the side. “Why?” 

Din considers how to approach this. He’s not the most sensitive of men, nor the most tactful. The only child he has experience with is his own, and the kid isn’t exactly verbal yet. Din says, “Here’s food, water, shelter, a toy, and a hug,” and the kid does what they want to do with that stuff. They never had a choice except to trust Din and go with him, which means Din had little need for persuasion. 

Rey is a child, but she has taken care of herself for longer than a child should. Clearly, no one on Jakku is stepping up. 

Din rubs a thumb against the child’s brow again, letting its happy coo melt some of his stress away. He says, “If you want, I will take you with me. Away from Jakku. I have plenty of water for all three of us, and there won’t be any sand. And I would teach you how to fly, and how to fight, and anything else you want.” 

Rey’s eyes squint. “Why?” She repeats. 

He thinks for a second. Then he says, “Because you’re alone,” because in the end, it’s as simple as that. 

“I have Mama and Papa,” She says, but her voice is quiet. “Or. Had.” 

Din waits. Rey turns to K8, who is in the process of taking her glass to clean, and she asks, “If Mama and Papa came back. They’d come here, because everyone comes here. Can you tell us if they do?” 

K8 whirrs for a moment. It says, “I would require ways to identify Mr.-Ms.-Mx. MamandPapa, and a communication code to do so.” 

Rey turns to Din, who is already holding out a comm link to the droid. K8 takes it with the gentleness anyone would expect of a nurse droid, and it disappears into its center. Din says, “Call if anyone is asking around for Rey or anyone like Rey. Can you do that?” 

K8 says, “Of course, sir and-or madam and-or Mx. I am at sir and-or madam and-or Mx.’s service.” 

“Whoever did your reprogramming sure did a number on you, didn’t they?” Din says lowly. “Thank you, K8.” 

Rey watches him closely as he stands up, tosses Pleit over his shoulder, and pulls the kid closer. He doesn’t have a free hand, but he waits and says, “It’s your choice. I promise I will do my best to give you everything you need, if you choose to join us. This is the Way.”

The kid reaches grabby hands out towards her, and suddenly Rey’s face smoothes from any worry. Her mouth pulls into a bright grin, and she reaches back to give the kid her free finger. They grip it tightly and coo, and Rey nods. She turns to face Din, and she says, “I have stuff to pick up. It’s over east.” 

Din doesn’t - can’t - believe that everything happens for a reason when he doesn’t know what that reason is. Happy coincidences, though, are known to make him feel somewhat more optimistic. He says, “What luck. My ship’s parked in that direction. We can stop on the way.” 

Rey takes her hand back from them, hikes her bag higher up on her shoulder, and follows Din out. 


	5. din gets a tiny new co-pilot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They reach the Razor Crest and leave Jakku. Rey is very excited, and then she's very tired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i struggled Big Time with this chapter b/c it felt very Cutesy and i couldn't find a way to like. make this Relevant to the story without losing the cute. i super hope you all enjoy it~ 
> 
> thank you! as always! for the nice words and kudos and for reading!!! you all make posting stuff so much more fun and i love hearing what you have to say and think about everything going on. <3 
> 
> next chapter will be when Some Action starts, but for now: enjoy the fluff!

Rey’s temporary home appears to be little more than a hole in the ground. It’s nestled in the corner of an unidentifiable scrap heap, mostly hidden from view of anyone who would be walking around. They’ve walked about a mile away from the outpost when she darts forward to dive in - clearly, the only reason this one hasn’t been stolen is because no one else on Jakku is small enough to fit in there. 

Her “stuff” she had to collect is another bag that contains what appears to be a small hunk of metal and wires, more rations, and a doll that’s dressed as a Resistance pilot. That, plus what Rey has said about her parents, is telling of who left Rey here alone. He finds it horrible and ironic that the supposed saviors of the galaxy would abandon one of their own children to a slow death on one of the planets that was a casualty of their own war. 

She clutches both bags protectively when Din offers to carry them. Once more, she doesn’t appear to have any problems carrying her cargo even though they outweigh her by at least a couple pounds. Din wonders if it has anything to do with the way she was hovering earlier, if she and the kid share the same abilities. 

Pleit starts to wake up when they approach the Razor Crest. He doesn’t quite groan - as if his Core manners would find the act distasteful - but he shuffles and mutters, and Din has to readjust his grip. The kid had started whining half a mile back, clearly annoyed with the hood again and likely more than ready for some sleep. Getting them settled in the ship will be a relief for all of them. 

Rey, on the other hand, is downright cheerful, humming and skipping in circles around Din. Had she been allowed to set the pace, her energy would have them walking the entire planet’s circumference in the same amount of time it’s taken Din to get them to the Razor Crest. When she notices Pleit moving, she stops humming but continues skipping in front of him. Noticeably, though, she stays out of Pleit’s line of sight. Since he’s tossed over Din’s shoulder, his face is pointed opposite of the direction they’re walking in. So when he starts to struggle and try to fully wiggle his way out of Din’s hold, he doesn’t notice that they’re practically on the ship already. 

Four steps, they’re on the ship, and Din lets Pleit squirm his way off his shoulder and onto the unforgiving, metal ground. This time, Core manners be damned, Pleit groans. 

Rey says, “I like your ship - s’not shiny and looks kind of broken, so no one would come scrap it. Smart.” 

If she were older, Din would tell her to ease up on the sarcasm. Instead, she can’t be any older than six or seven standard, if that, and he can tell she means it sincerely. She’s already poking her way into the nooks and crannies, ooh-ing and ah-ing at everything. Like everyone, she finds the weapons hold first. Unlike everyone else, she gives it a once-over and shuts it immediately after, uninterested. 

Din places the kid down, who shoves their hood back and toddles after Rey. 

He then turns to Pleit, who is looking less confused than most would after being knocked out and carted away. Pleit says, “Where are you taking me?” 

“Jail,” he responds simply. “Are you going to tell me why that little girl is so afraid of you?” 

Pleit snorts. Some sand goes skittering across the floor from it. “You have no idea what she is. What she’s capable of. I was born with nothing, but she somehow got all of it. The entire legacy. So, I’m sure she can sense the resentment. She’s feral, not stupid.” 

“You still think that you can get out of this,” Din notes calmly. “That you have some trick up your sleeve to get free.” 

“Do I? That’s news to me.” 

“That, or you’re pretty arrogant to be telling me so much.” 

Pleit shrugs as much as he can with his hands cuffed and his legs tied together. “You’re out of your league, Mandalorian. I am not dying anytime soon, and the ‘New Republic’,” here, he sneers and it poisons his tone. “jails are far from impenetrable. I need the girl, so I’ll get her eventually. You taking her only makes her easier to track. If I was able to find her in the middle of nowhere on a deserted, wasteland of a planet… Well, finding her with _you_. That will be child’s play.” 

Din hauls him to his feet and drags him over to the freezer. He flicks it on and waits for it to warm up while he says, “You’re easier to take down than you think you are.” 

Pleit smiles. It’s a strange, kindly smile for a greasy, travel-rumpled spy trying to taunt him. “You may be strong, but you’re nothing. What is a single bounty hunter against an empire?”

“What’s an empire matter to me? I’ve never cared for Imperial rule, no matter what it’s called.” With that, he pushes Pleit back, and the man is frozen still with that faux-kind smile. 

Rey is occupied with opening and closing the kid’s “room,” and the kid is occupied with tugging at Rey’s shirt and babbling incoherently. It makes for a sweet picture while also driving home the fact that Din needs Pleit’s payout - he needs to buy necessities for two children, now, and he needs to keep them fed. 

_Foundlings_ , his thoughts say persistently. _Foundlings that you must protect against a galaxy that would see them captured or dead or worse. What arrogance, Din Djarin, to think that you are sufficient._

Self-doubt is useless practicality-wise, though, so he ignores it for the time being. He cracks his neck, ensures that Pleit’s carbonite block is locked in and ready for transport, and he shuts the ship. 

“Come up to the cockpit with me. We can have your first flying lesson.” 

Rey shrieks loudly, which causes the baby to shriek even louder. She scrambles over to the ladder before Din has a chance to start and is hauling herself up like a lithe simian. The kid whines and reaches for the bars until Din takes mercy and picks the poor thing up. He had hoped they might be ready to sleep, but clearly Rey’s presence is still new and exciting enough to keep them awake. 

Din deposits the baby into their makeshift seat, getting them settled and tucked in against the chill of the ship, before turning to Rey. She has somehow squeezed herself into the absurdly small space underneath the console. Apparently, she has to look at everything. She’s oddly careful not to touch anything in her explorations, but her eyes are landing on and greedily taking in everything. 

Din gives her a minute, and then he says, “You’ll be spending plenty of time on the ship. For now, come out so I can get us going, and I’ll show you what I do.” 

Rey’s head peeks back out, and then she’s scurrying out to stand dutifully next to the pilot’s seat. Din sits down, still taller than her at seated height. He’ll need to make her a seat of her own, soon, the way the kid has their own. Children get jealous very easily, after all. 

For take off, she’ll be okay standing. If, once they’re settled into hyperspace, she looks like she’s getting tired, Din will send her below to rest in his bunk. 

That’s assuming she’ll welcome sleep, though. She’s restlessly fidgeting, trying to gaze at everything at once, and - understandably - starting to look nervous and slightly wary. 

Din tries his best to relax in his seat - to round his shoulders, to loosen his grip on the controls, to keep his elbows in close - all in an effort to look a little less imposing. 

Part of being Mandalorian is learning how to express yourself without using your hidden face. This includes intonation and body language, mostly. Din struggled with this aspect of Mandalorian life more than the foundlings who were born into their clans and raised around featureless guardians. He had to consciously learn how to read and mimic body language to express himself to outsiders, rather than coming by it naturally. Even now, decades since he last was able to rely on his face for nonverbal communication, he has to be cognizant of what he’s projecting when he’s in new situations lest he default to stoic indifference or defensiveness.

in this case, he hasn’t had much practice in appearing physically unthreatening. The fighter corps, after all, didn’t prioritize comforting foundlings and looking cuddly when they were raising him. He forces himself to relax as much as he can without discomfort. 

Ultimately, he’s not sure of whether he succeeds or not in his intentions. Rey’s nervousness doesn’t fade, but then again, he didn’t really expect it to when he’s taking her away from what appears to be the only planet she’s ever known.

He asks, “Are you ready to go?” 

It’s a last offer. _Are you sure you want to come with? Do you sure you don’t want me to take you back?_

Rey nods furiously and leans in. “Yes yes yes. Let’s go! I want to fly, I want to go!” 

Din turns to their littlest crew member, who gives a happy shriek and holds their hands out for their favorite toy. 

“First rule, Rey. This?” He unscrews the scuffed, shiny ball from the lever to his right, and he holds it up for her to see. She looks at it very seriously, scrutinizing it with a squint. “This goes to the baby. Always put it back at the end of the flight, but they get it during.” 

“Why?” 

Din shrugs as he leans back to plop it in his princeling’s waiting paw. They murmur and immediately start gnawing on it. “They like it.” 

Rey’s eyes squint further, but she nods solemnly. “Okay. But, now it’s time to go, right? Let’s go!” 

And so they go. 

It’s unlikely Rey absorbs anything from her “lesson” - she is downright giddy as the ship starts to rise, and she keeps asking if she can press that button, or that one, or _the green one, or what about that one - the stars are so pretty, can you see them! That one’s red, and that one’s orange! I love orange, did you know that orange’s my favorite color?_

Din’s glad she’s having a good time. 

After some time, the kid is asleep and Rey is looking dead on her feet. Din had been preoccupied with answering all of Rey’s (plentiful) questions, but once she started to run out of steam, he focused on optimizing their course to Nevarro. It’s once again become his unofficial homebase now that the Imperials have been driven out, though more due to Greef’s pushy need to be his only guilt contact and Cara’s recent relocation than anything else. 

He has, pointedly, avoided thinking about what those two will say about his latest acquisition. 

The third time Din catches Rey with her eyes closed, he says, “There’s a cot down below. You can rest there if you’d like. We still have eight hours before we’re anywhere near our destination.” 

Rey shakes her head vigorously. “Not tired. Not!” She repeats as Din turns to face her, as if she can sense his incredulity. “I like flying and sleeping is wasted time.” 

“Who told you that? Sleeping is important.” _Do as I say, not as I do._

Rey digs her heels in and crosses her arms. “Not tired.” 

Din says, “Okay.” 

It only takes a minute for her head to start falling and for her chin to hit her chest. She darts back awake after a second, stubbornly keeping her eyes open. Her eyes keep drooping, though, and she’s swaying a little too much for his comfort. 

After another moment of watching, he stands up and rolls his neck for a brief stretch. “I’ll be back in a few minutes - don’t touch anything, and yell if something starts making loud noises. Okay?” 

Rey perks up and nods. “I can do that!” 

Below deck, Din gathers the bedding from his own cot. It’s not anything special, nor is it half as soft as the items he’s procured for the littlest one, but it should do for now until they can stop for supplies. Carrying it up the ladder is unwieldy but manageable. 

Back in the cockpit, he sets the bedding down in front of the kid’s seat and sorts it into a vaguely-nest-like bundle. Rey is once again drooping, her hands scrubbing at her eyes while she forcefully suppresses a yawn. 

As he arranges the scratchy blankets and pulverized pillows he’s owned for longer than he can remember, Rey asks, “What’s’at for?” 

“I felt bad that we don’t have another seat for you. I figured you can sit there if you’re going to stay up, and it’ll be a little more comfortable.”

She blinks in apparent bewilderment. When Din takes his seat back at the console, she crouches down next to the bedding and pokes at it hesitantly with both hands. She pries around in it and continues to look confused. 

“For me?” 

Din inclines his head. “Yes. If you’d like.” 

Her fingers brush against the topmost blanket - a thin, worn thing from his early days bounty hunting. “It’s so soft.” When Din doesn’t respond, she picks it up and buries her face in its faded red fabric. “It’s so SO soft.” 

Her face widens into a giddy grin, visible even behind the blanket, and she rubs it against her face over and over and over. Din turns to face the console, content to know that she’s happy for now. 

The next time he looks over, she’s buried underneath almost all of it, clutching her red prize to her chest and clearly, completely conked out. Din’s helmet records her steady breathing and takes a snapshot - whether Rey will accept their clan as her own or not, he’s not able to help himself when it’s such a precious picture. 

There are concerns, as there always are. He has two sorcerers in his care, both of whom are far too young and vulnerable to have the enemies they appear to have. He has another mouth to feed. The children need clothes and supplies and other things that children need to grow up healthy. Pleit - the conviction in his voice about the Imperial State, his allusions to allies and a greater plot at play, Rey’s fear of him - is a larger worry than he was expecting when he took the bounty. The Razor Crest, a ship for one that is more broken parts than not, is now housing more than it was ever meant to. 

The less practical ones - his worry that he will be an inadequate caretaker, his fear that he’s unfit to teach foundlings, his anger at the galaxy for its cruelty towards its youngest, most vulnerable members - dance in his head as well. 

The sounds of two children’s gentle breathing is soothing, though, and there’s a strange comfort to be had in being needed. The children will need to be fed, watered, bathed, and entertained when they wake up. Din is responsible for them, and he will provide. After all: this is the Way. 

Din settles in for a night of cruising and lets the calm of empty space being filled lull him towards a contented peace.


	6. water, food, and grooming - how to earn a scavenger's trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As they approach Nevarro, Din gets a job and then introduces Rey to the concept of not always being dehydrated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is 5% furthering the plot and 95% "rey will be a part of this family so help me god" self-indulgent fluff... u all know what to expect from me by now i think. i also just learned that a gender neutral option for "prince/princess" is "princette" which is ADORABLE and is being added into din's rotation of nicknames for the baby. 
> 
> as mentioned previously, chapters will be coming slower since the holidays are over and i have to go back to work and actually like. do work. (ick)... but i also have a beta now who will be giving some input which means chapters will actually be edited and approved instead of me writing the last word, ignoring grammar/spelling/consistency issues, and posting immediately!!! 
> 
> thank you to pineconeskid / jamie for his assistance and for helping to up the quality of what i produce!!! and thank you to everyone reading and leaving kind comments and kudos and being a great audience - hope you all enjoy!!!

Nevarro comes into sight while the children are still asleep. They must have been more exhausted than Din realized, seeing as they’ve been flying for at least eight hours at this point. The kid normally doesn’t sleep for more than four or five hours at a time before waking up grumpy and hungry, and he can’t imagine Rey has had much chance to sleep for so long in her life. He’s pleasantly surprised that she was comfortable enough to sleep so deeply, considering her entire life has been upended. 

Din, for the majority of the flight, has been planning as much as he can without disturbing the other two occupants. He’s created lists upon lists upon lists of supplies to gather, of tasks to complete, of things to teach the foundlings, of ideas on how to help the two master their sorcery, or whatever it may be called, and more. All of which have been separated by priority and ranked in order of easiest to complete. 

He is pathetically grateful that he had a functioning organizational system for keeping track of bounties, ship maintenance, and providing for the covert long before he picked up a kid. A kid that is, by definition, disorganized. He has to keep track of so much now. 

Collecting Pleit’s bounty is still the first order of business, which will be easy enough. He’s been within range to hail Greef for information on where to land for almost a full hour, but the quiet contentment both children were radiating had him hesitating to make the call. 

He’s at the point where he can’t put it off any longer, so despite his reluctance, he switches on the communication system and pings Greef for a link. 

It takes him an abnormally long amount of time to respond. His figure appears in hololight, and Din straightens when he sees the tension in the man’s shoulders. 

“Mando,” he greets effusively. He does many things effusively, but this loudness and his wide bow is effusive even for him. “What a surprise! I wasn’t expecting to hear from you for at least a few weeks. What do you need, my dearest friend?” 

“Does Cara know I’ve usurped her?” Din asks lightly. “I thought she was your favorite.” 

Greef’s face twists into a severe frown. “She destroyed half of my bar with her brawls right after you left. She’s well-aware that she’s not my favorite person right now.” 

“The price you pay for quality.” 

“You’re still the highest quality there is, Mando, no need to sound jealous,” Greef says with a bright smile. “Now - what brings you back to Nevarro so soon? Decided Jakku was too much of a shithole even for you?” 

“Need a place to land and offload cargo. Some breakfast waiting for two wouldn’t be amiss either.” 

“Already?” Greef always looks a little starstruck by Din’s abilities. This, though - he looks gobsmacked. “I pegged this as one keeping you busy for weeks. Maybe a month, and even then, I was trying very hard not to underestimate you. Pleit’s slippery - “ 

“And dumb enough to be using his real name at the only bar on the planet. A beginner could’ve taken this job.” 

“I didn’t take you as one to feign humbleness, Mando. Regardless - I’ll have a room ready for you by the time you get here, and breakfast for you and bone broth for the little one waiting.” 

“Breakfast for two,” Din repeats. “I’ve acquired a co-pilot.” 

Greef’s raised eyebrow is visible, even with the limited view hololight provides. He says, “Oh?” 

Din doesn’t answer. Greef will see soon enough. 

“Well,” he continues slowly. “I was going to ask if you could do me a favor on the way in. Will this new co-pilot hinder you in taking care of a few Imperial stragglers?” 

Under his helmet, his lips tighten against his will. “Thought we got them all.” 

“We did,” Greef says reassuringly. “No trooper from the original infestation is still around. But two troopers were seen on the east side of the planet a couple days back, near the embassy. My guess is that they were sent to find out why Moff Gideon hasn’t checked in and why the planet’s gone radio silent on their channels.” 

“I don’t like this.” 

“Which is why I’m asking you to find them and figure out why they’re here! You get information from them, kill them or bring them in for someone else to, and then you and the kid can resume business as usual. No lurking Stormtroopers trying to take over once more, my planet is once again free of their crap, and you get to personally ensure that your boy is safe. It shouldn’t take you more than a couple of hours, if that. I think this is a win-win, no?” 

Because Din knows it bothers Greef more than if he were to answer, he again doesn’t say anything. Greef, at his core, is a bit of a drama queen, and he clearly finds it unbearable when Din doesn’t play into said dramatics. 

Greef sighs loudly after a few moments. “Do this and not only will your lodging be free, I’ll add in some ship repairs on the house. Not all!” he adds quickly. “It’s a miracle your ship still flies, and it’ll take more credits than the entire guild has to fix the damn thing completely. But some repairs - the more essential ones. We have a mechanic in town who’s not half bad that owes me. Is that fair?” 

“Send me the coordinates. And clear a spot for me to park when I’m done so I don’t have to drag a cranky kid around..” 

“Of course, of course. We’ll see you soon, Mando.” 

Greef’s holo disappears, and the transmission cuts out. Coordinates are provided not even ten seconds after, allowing Din to start mapping their landing. 

He shouldn’t be surprised - give Greef an inch, and he’ll take a mile and your wallet. He’s the kind of man who’s gotten used to taking whatever advantage he can find since none came to him by birth. He’s built a fine name for himself, and he didn’t build it by asking politely and being diminutive. Besides, it’s hardly his fault that Din cannot refuse allies in need. 

At some point during his and Greef’s conversation, both children woke up. The littlest one is whining and reaching up grabby hands - craving Din’s attention as they always are when they first wake up. From the pile of blankets on the floor, Rey’s head pops up after a few moments of rustling and shifting fabric. Her hair is a nest around her face, her left right cheek has an imprint from his pillow, and her eyes are half-lidded with sleep.

Din stands up and says, “We have some time before we land. Let’s get everyone cleaned up, have some breakfast, and I’ll fill you in on the job we just got.” 

Rey starts digging around in one of her bags as she asks, “You’re picking up more bad people to take to jail?” 

Din picks up the baby, who bats at his helmet needily and whines for food-attention-clean. “More or less.” 

He waits until Rey has grabbed whatever item she needed from her bag - it appears to be a hairbrush - before he leads them below deck. He starts walking over to the small sink that has been repurposed as the kid’s bathtub, but then he stops and faces Rey. She, in turn, looks back at him curiously, hands wrapped around the brush that almost looks too large for her. 

“There’s a - “ he pauses. “Rey, you know that not all planets are like Jakku?” 

Rey, understandably, looks at him like he’s the stupidest creature in the galaxy. 

“I mean, are you aware that most planets don’t have water shortages the way Jakku does? Most planets aren’t deserts and have water available in abundance. Because I travel a lot, I can stop on these planets and ensure I have plenty of water for drinking and washing while we’re on this ship. Understand?” 

She stares at him. “Plenty,” she repeats. 

“More than enough,” he clarifies. “Would you like to see?” 

Disbelief would be too easy of an emotion to identify. Din will admit to being uncertain of what is going through Rey’s head as she nods. The littlest one whines louder, and Din hushes them. “Just a minute,” he reassures them. “We’ll be quick.” 

Rey carefully places her brush next to the sink as Din (and, subsequently, the child in his arms) leads her further back to the small restroom. It only holds the basic necessities - a toilet, a small sink, and a shower all crammed into one small room. There’s not any storage built into the space, so Din long ago repurposed an unused toolbox to hold his few grooming items. It’s on the sink’s counter in such a way that Din has never been able to comfortably shave without his elbow knocking against the damn thing. 

This is, likely, one of the reasons why raising children on a ship tends to be inadvisable. Free space is going to become an even rarer commodity, with two children running around. 

As if to prove his point, Rey squeezes herself into the room next to him, appearing intensely unhappy and somehow managing to not make any contact with him. He’s impressed, considering the stall is barely large enough to fit him if he stands up straight. 

“I’ve seen rooms like this. The nicer scrap had some.” She grabs the sink nozzle with one hand and tugs on it lightly, humming thoughtfully. “What’s all this for?” 

Din points and waits until she’s looking. “This is a shower. Certain species, such as humans who haven’t grown up in a place like Jakku, use these to clean themselves.” He then reaches out and turns it on. 

Rey immediately lurches forward, shoving her hands under the water and gasping. “You’re losing it! Where’s - do you - “ She darts around him to grab his makeshift shower caddy to shove it under the shower-head. “You can’t just - ! You’re losing  _ water _ !” she shrieks louder. 

Din shuts the shower off. Rey clutches the tool box to her chest, eyes wild and darting between the box and Din. He says, “Look down - do you see the metal thing there, with holes in it? That’s a drain. If the water isn’t used, it goes down the drain, through a pipe, through a filter to make sure the water is clean and potable - safe to drink,” he corrects himself quickly. “And then it’s cycled back to where all of the water is stored, to be used for drinking or washing.” 

She stares at him, bewildered. 

“There’s no waste,” he explains. “Any water that comes on the ship is used to its fullest. You don’t have to catch it. The ship will do that for you.” 

Rey’s jaw drops. “Wow.” 

“Do you want to use the shower?” 

“Use it?” 

He nods. Turns it on again, and waves at it. “I have to wash this guy here. But you can use the shower and this - “ He grabs the soap out of the toolbox and places it on the sink. “To clean yourself. Just go under the water and scrub yourself with it, then go under the water again to rinse it off.” 

Rey turns to the water hungrily. She nods slowly without looking at him. 

“Your clothes will have to be washed separately, so don’t get them wet. We can worry about that later, after the job.” He waits until she nods again. “You can lock the door once I leave for privacy. It’s just the latch above the handle. Okay?” 

“Okay,” She says faintly. “Okay.” 

Din pries himself out of the cramped cube. The lock engages once he’s out of the way. 

The kid’s patience must have worn off, because a three-clawed hand slaps at Din’s helmet and a tortured wail escapes them. Din says, “Yes, I know. Your life is very difficult. You sleep for ten hours, then I have the audacity to keep you waiting. Truly, no one has suffered as you have.” 

The sink is halfway filled and he’s struggling to get the kid undressed when a delighted shriek erupts from the bathroom. It’s followed by loud giggles and whoops of glee. This has the effect of brightening the kid’s mood, who giggles in turn and finally stops fighting Din enough to be stripped and tossed into the tub. 

The shower is still running when Din starts drying his princette off, who is visibly pouting at their playtime being cut short. Din rubs at the furrow in their brow until they soften and give off a delicate purr. “Now for breakfast. We should still have some meat. I imagine Rey will like that. She looks like a carnivore.” He takes their coo as agreement with his stellar insight. 

The meat must smell good as he heats it up, because the shower cuts off and not even two minutes later, a small, semi-wet girl comes barreling out. Her clothes stick to her where she didn’t dry off enough - Din hadn’t thought to give her a towel, which he’ll try remember for next time. Her hair is loose around her shoulders and dripping on the floor. 

“That was amazing!” she gushes. “Water is amazing, showers are amazing! This is amazing!” 

Din stares at the plate of food in front of him. Half of it is cut into small, tiny chunks for the baby. They have teeth and can chew fairly well, but he hasn’t gotten over the paranoia that they could choke just yet. The other half was left alone. He originally thought that Rey would be in the age bracket where she could cut her own food, but her amazement over basic necessities has him reevaluating. He picks up a fork and knife to cut the rest, just to be safe. That half of the meat is carefully scooped into a mug. 

Rey takes it when he hands the mug to her, but she doesn’t do anything with it. She sniffs it and makes some sort of happy noise, but all she does is hold it and look at him. 

“It’s food,” he says. 

“Yes. It smells good.” 

Din waits, but she still is just holding it. 

After a moment, she holds the mug up and out to him. He gently pushes it back down with a finger. 

“It’s your food,” he clarifies. “Eat it.” 

For what feels like the millionth time, she stares at him in shock. “It’s mine?” 

Din picks up his plate from the counter, picks up the baby who was sitting on the counter (away from the cutlery, of course), and sits down on the floor with the baby in his lap. He carefully plucks a piece of meat off of the plate and holds it out to them, who shoves it into their mouth ravenously. As if Din wasn’t feeding them up to eight times a day. 

“It’s your breakfast.” 

Rey doesn’t move. She says, “But I didn’t do anything.” 

Din could try to explain that it wasn’t right for Rey to only eat if she worked hard enough. He could try to find the words to tell her that she’s grown up in an unspeakably cruel situation and it’s normal to eat every day even if there isn’t scrap to find. He would love to wring every bastard’s neck on Jakku that left her to fend for herself, to the point that she can’t comprehend someone giving her food without wanting something in return. 

The only thing he can do is reassure her that she won’t be treated the same while with him. He says, “On this ship, everyone eats. Always. I won’t allow otherwise when it’s in my power to do so.” 

Her confusion doesn’t fade, but her survival instincts win out. She doesn’t wait for any more confirmation or the chance that he would take the mug back before she’s shoveling bits of meat into her mouth at an almost grotesque pace. 

Din continues to feed the kid, content in the happy noises coming from both children. Rey’s sounds are a little louder and more aggressive, while the kid’s are tempered by their trust that Din wouldn’t let them starve. Rey finishes and, similarly to how she did with the glass of water she had on Jakku, she swipes her finger around the inside of the mug to ensure she has captured every single crumb. 

Din almost offers her more, seeing the way she devoured her first helping. Then he remembers that she likely has never eaten very much at all, and he doesn’t have time to nurse a sick child if he’s supposed to be fighting Stormtroopers later. 

When the kid finishes their portion, he turns to her and asks, “Do you need help getting your hair tied up again? It probably shouldn’t be kept loose on the ship. Too many places where it could get caught and you could get hurt.”

Rey automatically raises a hand to her hair, and she passes her fingers through it once. She doesn’t answer for a long moment, letting the wet strands trickle out of her grasp slowly. 

Din waits. The look on her face is one he recognizes from his early childhood, right after he lost his parents. It’s sorrow and confusion, with just a hint of, “What do I do?” underneath it all. As a child, Din had felt similarly until he felt comfortable with the covert and was old enough to take his vows. He remembers the way some things - a certain smell, a phrasing, the feel of a hand against the nape of his neck - used to leave him feeling like a ship with no thrusters. Alone and cold in the vast emptiness of space, trying to figure out what direction he needs to go in when he doesn’t have any idea how to get his bearings. 

She tilts her head just enough that she’s looking down into the littlest one’s eyes. They, in turn, look back solemnly. The moment is charged with something that makes Din feel like an intruder. 

As quickly as it started, their eye contact breaks. The kid reaches out their hands, Rey mimics their position, and her hairbrush smacks into her hand not five seconds later. 

Rey takes a deep breath and holds the brush out to him. She says, “Yes. Do my hair.”

Taking the brush is an important moment, he knows. Even if neither of them can articulate why, Din knows that it is. He lets the kid scurry off of his lap so Rey can sit down in front of him with her back facing him. Her shoulders are painfully tense and reiterate that there is history here. 

So Din is gentle as he untangles her hair. He works the knots loose with his fingers when the brush isn’t enough, careful not to tug or jar her. Slowly, she relaxes. Slowly, Din makes progress, and her hair soon is smooth and clear of mess. 

When they walk back up to the cockpit for landing, Rey’s hair is in a serviceable braid, pinned and twirled until it’s piled into a bun on top of her head. 


	7. aren't you a little short for a stormtrooper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Stay here,” he repeats. “I’ll be back soon.” 
> 
> It therefore comes as no surprise when, not even ten minutes later, he hears children giggling behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oofa, sorry for the wait everybody <3 had a health scare a couple weeks back that threw me off my groove, so it's taken a bit to get back into the swing of things. i appreciate your patience almost as much as i appreciate the kind words and kudos from all of you (which i appreciate IMMENSELY) <3 
> 
> next chapter will be longer - this one is Setting the Stage... we might actually have some plot showing up on the horizon. who knew???? also i made up everything about nevarro i'm sorry if it sounds fake... i did my absolute best lol 
> 
> as always, thank you for reading and i hope you enjoy <3

Nevarro is a different kind of wasteland than Jakku. 

Jakku is a sandy desert that has rarely, if ever, been capable of maintaining life. Nevarro, on the other hand, is volcanic and almost obscenely fertile - until the lava rivers overflow, or the actual volcanoes erupt, and molten magma destroys everything the native population has ever tried to grow or build. 

Two areas on Nevarro were built with this in mind and are consistently safe from its dangerous terrain: Greef’s community on the west side of the planet, and the government buildings on the east. 

Nevarro has never been active in galaxy politics, but its location is just the right distance between the inner and outer rim planets that plenty of politicians have used the planet as a halfway point for longer journeys. Nevarro’s own government is more a board of tourism than any sort of governing body, but it has “senate” buildings and the like for appearances’ sake. The embassy is the only place of any international importance. This, too, explains the relative peace on the west end of the planet despite its less-than-stellar clientele, lack of organizational structure, and Greef being in charge. It’s not as if politicians care to see the rougher areas of the planets they stop on, so most of Greef’s more questionable company is happily ignored while government officials and diplomats rest up on the “nice” end of the planet. They proceed on their merry way, delightfully unaware of the somewhat legally dubious happenings in the west. On the other side of matters, the more questionable company will stay where their business is while doing their best not to draw attention from the east when a galaxy-wide incident could be caused by any lack of discretion. 

While this makes just about anything on Nevarro very easy to find, it means parking a ship while wishing to remain unnoticed is difficult on a good day. 

Din, as in all things, does his best. 

The Razor Crest lands on a hill that is slightly smaller than the ones in front of and behind it. For what is meant to be a short job, it should do just fine. He’s fairly certain that Greef would have warned him if any volcanoes were due to blow, but the guild leader’s track record of providing complete and accurate information is less than stellar. 

Rey and the kid look at him in sync when he cuts power to the ship. Expectantly on Rey’s part, and eagerly on the littlest one’s. 

“I shouldn’t be long. You two stay here.” He starts to lower himself below deck, then hesitates. “Preferably, stay here and away from the controls.” 

Rey’s face falls dramatically. “But I want to see you catch bad guys!” 

The child whines. They are clearly protesting his decision as well. 

“It’s dangerous. I promised I would provide for you, and that means keeping you safe. Letting you come with me would break that promise.” He pushes the child back when they try to follow him, and he straightens his shoulders when Rey’s pout grows. “I’ll be back soon.” 

This only makes Rey’s face darken. She crosses her arms and stomps over to her blanket pile, keeping her back to him. It’s a pointed dismissal, her anger clear in the way only a child can make clear. 

It’s terribly endearing, which is definitely not what she was going for. He, therefore, keeps the thought to himself. 

On the other side of the cockpit, his little princette holds their arms out pleadingly. Din pats them and pushes them back into their seat gently. 

“Stay here,” he repeats. “I’ll be back soon.” 

It therefore comes as no surprise when, not even ten minutes later, he hears children giggling behind him. When he turns his head slightly, he can see them hiding behind a pile of rocks - the baby being carried on Rey’s back and clutching her around her neck, Rey crouching with a bright red face. 

The coordinates that Greef gave him are too close for them to turn back now, as he can see the embassy without any equipment. It would draw more attention to drag them back to the ship than it will be to continue forward. 

Assuming it’s only Stormtroopers, it should be fine. 

_ Allowing foundlings to follow you into danger. Din Djarin, what are you doing?  _

Din ducks low, crouching behind a short hill, and he uses his scope from there to ensure no one has spotted him yet. He doesn’t see any immediate threats when his equipment clicks on, which bodes well. The embassy - a building more reminiscent of a hotel than anything used for government affairs - appears to be full of the usual citizens. A dozen individuals wandering in and out of rooms, each of them pompously busy in the way only politicians can be. There are other workers, too - belabored secretaries or assistants following behind them, scribbling on datapads or carrying useless crap for their respective bosses.

At the embassy’s entrance, there are a handful of Stormtroopers standing guard. Not two, since Greef is apparently completely inept at counting, but not a hoard like the last time he faced Imperials on Nevarro. Two soldiers on each side of the door makes four Stormtroopers in total, and all of them are nodding at those who enter the building. No one seems particularly surprised to see soldiers from the defeated Empire guarding their building, which is typical as far as Din can tell. 

Din thinks this won’t be too difficult of a capture, though. Their armor is standard issue and not from any special corps, they’re out in the open with little chance of meaningful cover, and best of all - they’re relaxed. Clearly they’re not here for anything that important if they can be slouching against the walls and chatting casually. 

He’s not one to be optimistic, but he’s also not one to underestimate his own abilities. Stormtroopers frequently have equipment that is subpar, their training is haphazard and useless in any sort of close combat, and Din has taken on worse than a handful of troopers while keeping the baby (relatively) safe. He’s confident that he can handle it even with the added difficulty of two anklebiters. 

So instead of trying to convince his wayward foundlings to go back to the ship, Din sighs and turns to face their hiding spot. Rey’s hand slaps over her mouth in a futile attempt to stifle her giggles, as if that will keep him from seeing her. The spoiled princette is already waving at Din, though, well aware that their stealth was never going to be a match for Din’s abilities. 

He crooks a finger at them. “Come on then. Next time, don’t laugh so loud.” 

Neither child even pretends to look shame-faced. Rey trots up to him, beaming and holding onto their littlest companion’s legs to keep them in place. When she’s within arm’s reach, she carefully picks the baby off of her shoulders to put them down in the sand. They, in turn, immediately shriek delightedly and dart over to Din. 

Din lets the womp rat scurry under his arm, patting their head lightly. Rey takes a seat next to him and smiles brightly. 

“We didn’t miss you catch them! I was worried we would ‘cause I didn’t see where you went right away but we found you.” 

“You did,” Din says dryly. “Even though i told you to stay on the ship.” 

Rey doesn’t stop grinning at the implied rebuke. “Yes! You walk really fast, you know.” She stretches her neck up and tries to peek over the hill Din had been using for cover. “Where’s the bad guys? Are you going to hit them like you hit Mr. Pleit?” 

The baby is perfectly content to let Din move him around to his other side, which opens up space next to him for Rey to step into. He picks up his rifle, points it, and motions her closer. 

“This is the scope,” he says, pointing at the small cylinder. “It lets you see things that are far away. If you look through there, you’ll see men in white armor.” At Rey’s pleading look, he pushes the nose lower so the scope is at eye level for her. “Go ahead.” 

She shoves her left eye at the scope and misses, likely smudging the lens with her face. After a moment, she must adjust herself well enough to see through it, because she lets out a small gasp. 

“There they are!” she says excitedly. “Like you said!” 

“Yes.” He pulls the rifle away from her and dodges the baby’s attempts to grab it for themself. “Rey, that armor means those men are working for someone very bad. If you ever see men who are wearing that armor anywhere we go, you tell me. If I’m not with you, you run away or hide. Okay?” 

Rey tilts her head. “You catch bad guys, so I have to let you know so you can catch them?” 

“You have to let me know so I can make sure they don’t hurt you,” he corrects. “Stormtroopers are bad. They have hurt a lot of people.” 

“Why?” 

“That’s above my pay-grade,” he mutters, snorting lightly. At her confused look, he sighs. Tries to figure out how to sum up decades of war and turmoil spread across an entire galaxy. “They work for people who want to control everyone completely, and they think the way to do that is by scaring and hurting people who disagree with them.” 

Her small face scrunches up. “They look kinda small for that,” she says dubiously. “Larkashe is lots bigger than them, and he can’t beat Plutt who’s even bigger and Plutt would rather look at scrap and count rations than control all’v’us ‘cause he thinks people are all dumb.” 

Din goes to answer, then he pauses. He places the littlest one back onto the sand next to Rey, ignoring their whine for a moment. Then, he lifts his rifle back up and looks down the scope again. 

Sure enough, the Stormtroopers do look short. Shorter than Stormtroopers should, he means, and isn’t it embarrassing that a child noticed before he did? 

All of them are small, which must be why he didn’t notice during his first perusal. Assuming the embassy doors are similar in dimensions to Greef’s bar’s entrance, they can’t be more than one-fifty centimeters, if that. He watches them for a moment, and he sees the way they seem - unpolished. Their armor, standard-issue and sized for men around one-seventy centimeters, is slouching on their frame and far too large on them. What he had taken for relaxation is actually ill-fitting gear and anxiety. The way they’re leaning against the walls seems more like a haphazard, poorly executed way to keep the space at their back to a minimum. Their shuffling feet, the way they keep talking and pushing each other… 

If he was alone, he would scrub a hand over his face. He would pinch the bridge of his nose and bemoan his lot in the universe. He might even indulge in a shot of liquor that Paz had given him for a birthday many years ago. 

Instead, he straightens his shoulders and slides his rifle into its holster on his back. He picks up his princette, who squeals delightedly, and holds out a hand for Rey. She, surprisingly, takes it without a second glance and immediately swings it between them. 

“Change of plans,” he says. “They’re not real Stormtroopers.” 

“Hm?” 

“They’re kids. Kids can’t be bad guys.” 

Rey says, “I dunno, the little Teedos are mean.” 

“Mean isn’t the same thing as bad.” 

This must stump her, as she stops swinging their arms and trades in her curious look for a thoughtful one. She walks next to him, docile, and seems to be chewing over his last words as if they were the wisest advice from a clan elder. 

He leads them down into town. There’s no cover anywhere, really, once he leaves his original vantage point. The natural rockiness of the planet has been whittled away to pave smooth roads for the off-planet visitors, leaving a flat and featureless landscape. Once you come to the end of the hill leading into town, there aren’t any other changes in elevation until at least a kilometer in any other direction. 

The openness sets Din’s nerves on edge, but he forces himself not to tense. He keeps his posture as relaxed as he can manage, and he pointedly doesn’t grip either child tighter than he needs to in order to keep them in his grip. 

The Stormtroopers straighten as much as they can when Din approaches them. One cocks his head so far, Din thinks he might tip over. The helmet looks  _ large _ on an obviously prepubescent frame. 

Din nods at them as he approaches. They hesitantly nod back. 

“Any chance you boys looking for alternate employment?” 


	8. they're all a little green

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To no one's surprise, Din has a soft spot for dangerous children.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello hello all~ january was one of Those Months. like you know how sometimes life just bashes you over the head with as much drama and nonsense all at once? 
> 
> yeah. i just had one of those waves of So Much Stuff. BUT things are on the up-and-up so that's awesome and nice and i have high hopes for february #2020IsMyYear
> 
> thank you or the nice words and kudos and general support <3 i hope you guys enjoy this chapter!!! i know a lot of ppl were excited for finn and i assure u he's on his way, just not quite yet... i hope no one's too terribly disappointed ;)

The boys, when asked, say their names are DL-304, DL-309, EM-624, and EM-657. They might be fifteen standard, if that. 

It takes Din a solid fifteen minutes to convince them that no, he isn’t looking for a fight. Yes, he’s serious about the job offer. No, this isn’t a trick from their superior officers. 

DL-309 - the curious one - is already shucking his helmet off by the time Din finishes assuring them that he really, truly means what he’s saying. Din is surprised by his easy acquiescence despite himself. He hadn’t expected any Stormtroopers to desert, let alone so quickly. Part of him had been positive he’d be knocking the kids out and dragging them back to his ship one-by-one.

Din’s body language must give some of his surprise away, because DL-309 shrugs helplessly. He says, “Whatever your job is, it can’t be worse than what happened to 319’s crew. I’d rather be a deserter than…” 

The way he trails off is concerningly ominous. 

Whatever happened to 319’s crew is enough incentive to send the other three into immediate action. They take their helmets off as well and toss them aside. EM-657 goes the extra mile and drop kicks his across the street, smirking when it clatters next to a garbage can. 

Normally, Din would caution them against throwing away any possible resources, but Stormtrooper armor is notoriously cheap. They’ll be better off without the ill-fitting crap. 

It’s a miracle the helmets even stayed on their heads with how small they are. They’re painfully young, with baby fat clinging stubbornly to their chins no matter how far they try to jut their jaws out. It’s a futile, if somewhat amusing, attempt at looking older, he thinks. None of them have any facial hair, and without the audio modulators built into the helmets to ensure uniformity between soldiers, it’s clear their voices haven’t deepened at all. Their mutters to each other are hilariously high-pitched. 

The boys are, obviously clones. What’s interesting is that they appear to be two different strains of clones - The DLs are at least partially Corellian, with sandy brown hair and pale white skin that wouldn’t be caught dead on any planet with more than one sun. The EMs are nowhere near that pale; their skin is a warmer russet, reddish-brown color, while their hair is as black as hair can get on humanoids. 

Din hadn’t realized that there were different clones bases that troopers were created from. All of the troopers he had come across when the Empire was in its heyday wore the exact same face - tan, strong nose, dark brown hair, and caramel eyes. 

He had killed more troopers with that face than he cares to count. That uncountable number sits poorly in his gut when he’s looking at these children - children who are wearing white armor that has, up until this point, been the only clear, unequivocal indicator of an enemy. 

Din’s definition of an enemy has narrowed considerably since picking up his small green charge. The baby coos encouragingly, reaching up and scraping their claws against the chin of his helmet to beg for attention. 

“How soon will anyone be looking for you?” Din finally asks. 

DL-309 shrugs. It jostles the loose-fitting armor. “Not anytime soon. We’re here as a formality, not because they actually expected to need us.” 

“‘Formality’s’ a funny way to pronounce ‘cannon fodder,” EM-657 mutters.

The baby reaches a hand out at EM-624 and whines when they realize he’s too far out of reach for them to touch. EM-624 doesn’t say anything, but he leans back with visible discomfort, and EM-657 steps in front of him. EM-657 snaps, “What  _ is _ that thing?” 

“My child.” Din gently shushes the kid, bouncing them on his hip lightly in a poor attempt at a soothing motion. “Don’t call them a thing.” 

“I’m Rey!” Rey declares loudly and suddenly, sticking her chin out. Din’s surprised to note that she’s close enough that she’s almost standing on Din’s feet. Her grip on his hand had tightened when the short troopers had first taken off their helmets, and she somehow manages to squeeze it tighter when they all look down at her. “I was here first and I helped catch a bad guy  _ and _ I’m the co-pilot so I get first dibs on water when we get back to the ship!” 

“So that’s - “ EM-657 points at the baby. “Your kid. And that’s Rey. Who are you then? Why are you bothering with us?” 

And isn’t that just the million credit question? Why indeed. 

Din, once, had a looser moral code. He took whatever jobs would let him provide for the covert. He did whatever had to be done to keep them safe and to keep the Mandalorians alive. He kept his head down, ignored wrongdoings that didn’t directly affect him or his people, and he prioritized survival over kindness. 

Then a small green child changed everything, and Din had to take a screwdriver to his code and tighten its looser joints. 

Now, he’s in exile. Exile in the loosest of terms, yes, seeing as it’s self-imposed. But it’s exile nonetheless. He no longer provides for an entire tribe, but instead for his clan alone. He received blessings from his tribe elder, but that doesn’t change the fact that his entire life has been upended. His priorities and ethics have thus shifted accordingly.

The boys are painfully, horribly young. 

He doesn’t have to answer, because as he ponders his response, the door to the embassy shoots open. An older man in Imperial garb steps out, trailed by two lower-ranked officers. His uniform isn’t flashy enough to label him a Moff, but the pins indicate he’s at least a general, if not higher. 

He walks like someone who thinks themself terribly important walks - Fast, uncaring of anyone in his way, busy talking and expecting everyone around him to listen and conform to his pace. Those at his side do nothing to dissuade him of this notion, rushing to keep up and take notes on whatever “important” matter he’s decided to dictate to them. 

The Imperial’s first mistake is barking out an order, then turning to look at the entrance he just stormed out of. His next mistake is saying, “Where are those useless clones?” instead of practicing any sort of caution. 

Din’s rifle is in his hands and firing before the Imp can make a third mistake. 

The general-admiral-whatever he may be disintegrates immediately without another word. The other officers reach for blasters, but they’re not faster than Din. They, too, disappear without a sound. 

DL-309 says, “Fucking hell.” 

Nevarro isn’t highly populated in the first place, so it’s not as if it’s likely they have any witnesses. Those who live there know to mind their own business even in the “nicer” areas. Additionally, Din would’ve heard if there was anyone on the streets who would be a problem, but it’s late in the east’s day cycle and just about everyone seems to be tucked inside, likely just starting to fall asleep. 

That doesn’t mean lingering would be in their best interests. Din slings his weapon onto his back and says, “We should get going.” 

“You just killed - !” 

“Don’t care,” Din cuts him off. “Let’s go.” 

He can feel Rey’s eyes on him, and when he looks down, she’s staring at him with awe. She somehow shuffles even closer, and her wide brown eyes bore into his. He tilts his head, silently questioning, and her face bursts into a huge, beaming smile. 

He doesn’t have time to wonder at the reaction. Stealing four junior Stormtroopers is one thing, killing high-ranking officers is another; another that will  _ definitely _ bring attention. It’s not as if the boys will be much help if any confrontation happens - their equipment is garbage in the first place and clearly weakened further from years of abuse. He’d be surprised if their blasters were functional. 

Imperials must be desperate to be reusing dead trooper armor for their latest batch of clones. 

Well.

Desperate or, more likely,  _ economical _ . EM-657 had implied that they were disposable, so perhaps higher ups didn’t see the point in outfitting expendable soldiers adequately. 

He readjusts his princette, who has gone silent. The lack of fuss says something about their past. It isn’t right for an infant to be perfectly aware of how important it is to stay silent when there’s any blaster fire noises. As always, Din is hit with the bittersweet realization that, while horrible, it makes his life significantly easier when he doesn’t have to calm a crying baby during battle. He squeezes the child reassuringly, but he doesn’t receive a coo or shriek or any sort of sound that tells him his foundling feels safe. 

That thought tweaks his last steady nerve, so his, “Come on, we’re going,” is harsher than he would prefer. Rey doesn’t seem bothered, just continues to cling to his hand. The boys, however, startle and fall into line behind him as he storms away from town. 

They must make quite the sight. A Mandalorian, kitted out in still-shiny beskar, carrying a baby and holding a toddler’s hand while four deserting Stormtroopers trail after them. Cara will no doubt have something to say about it. Din focuses on how he’ll respond to her mockery rather than linger on his anger. The line of thought keeps him busy for most of the trek back. 

The ship is just coming into sight when Din hears the sound of armor smacking armor. He turns around to look at the boys, who are pointedly staring forward and not making eye contact with anyone else. Rey doesn’t let him look for too long; she tugs at his hand until he looks down at her, and she says, “Hi, so, where are we going now? ‘Cause um. Um. I want to fly again.” 

Din nods and faces forward again, continuing their trek forward. “We’ll have to fly to the other side of the planet. It’ll be a shorter flight than the one we took to get here. Greef - my friend - will have food for us once we get there, and we’ll likely stay for at least a few days.” 

“Why?” 

“We need supplies, and the ship needs repairs.” 

“It’s broken? What’s broken?” 

Din doesn’t know how to say “too much” without concerning everyone about to step onto said ship. He decides to say, “Enough. It still flies, but it could use some elbow grease.” 

“I can help! I know how to fix scrap, and your ship’s just like scrap!” 

Someone behind them snorts. Din forces back a sigh. “When we get there, I’ll ask the mechanic if he’d mind having an extra set of hands.” 

There’s silence for a few moments, then he hears another smack of a fist against armor. A hissed, “Zip it!“, just loud enough for Din’s helmet to pick up on, accompanies the hit. 

“No, okay just - look, guy,” DL-304 says, even as the other three are reaching forward and backward to hit him. He’s behind DL-309 but in front of both EMs, meaning the other three have to contort and stretch to reach him. Their open-handed smacks are admonishing but not overly harsh, in the same way Din would wrestle with other foundlings when he was growing up. “Obviously this is better than being decommissioned, which was going to happen sooner or later, but what exactly is this job? Why us? Where are we going?” 

“304!” DL-309 snaps. “Sir, no disrespect was intended, he’s still green - “ 

“You’re all green,” Din says dryly. “And it’s fine. Questions are fine.” 

Their faces don’t change, but the stoicism seems to give off a pointed sense of disbelief.

“The job is working for the Bounty Hunter’s Guild. The west side of the planet has recently grown into a major point of contact for the guild, and they need help with just about everything. Organizing jobs, making sure jobs get to the right bounty hunters, validating that people are who they say they are, ensuring the bounties are valid and paid for by the clients... There’s a lot more, too, but those are the big responsibilities that the guild needs assistance on. With your training, I imagine this won’t be a hard job for you all to help with. 

“Why you?” Din repeats thoughtfully. “A couple of reasons. I was hired to take care of any Stormtroopers that arrive on this planet, and you happened to be here. Normally I wouldn’t lose any sleep over dealing with Imperials, but you’re kids.” 

“We’re soldiers!” DL-309 protests immediately. 

“You’re children.” 

“We completed training - “ 

Din interrupts, “You’re children, and I don’t kill children. I do kill  _ adult _ soldiers, though. It’s not a bad thing to be a kid in light of that, is it?” 

Their faces pale. Din waits for it to sink in - the man who killed their superior officer is not an enemy they want - before he continues. “Outside of that, there’s a use for you four that isn’t being cannon fodder for men who would rather see innocent people dead than lose an iota of their power. The Empire isn’t worth dying for.” 

“The Empire’s gone,” They all recite in unison. Monotonously but automatically, as if they don’t know what the words mean but know to say them. 

“Yeah, sure. That’s why you were ordered to protect an Imperial general traveling through Nevarro.” 

“Admiral,” EM-624 corrects quietly. “First Order Admiral Ons. He was just promoted.” 

He doesn’t bother pretending that the name means anything to him. He says, “You can all leave if you want. I’m not going to stop you. Working for men like that, though, isn’t something children should be doing. You can be more. I’m just trying to give you a chance to do that.”

The boys glance at each other uncertainly. Then, quietly, DL-309 says, “Better chance of us surviving here than with the order. I mean, 319...” 

Again, the mysterious designation works as a significant deterrent towards their cold feet. All four stand up a little straighter, nod at each other, and seem more settled in their skin. DL-309 says, “Lead on, sir.” 

The flight to the other side of Nevarro is cramped. Rey darts ahead of all of them to protectively cram her bedding under Din’s seat, saying, “You can’t have it! He gave it to me!” 

EM-657 mutters, “We don’t want your cruddy blankets, squirt,” which sparks Rey into screaming, “They’re not cruddy and I’m not a squirt! You’re a squirt!” 

The littlest one whines again once Din deposits them into their seat, reaching out towards EM-624 and pouting when he pointedly stands as far away from them as possible. DL-304 is looking at the controls curiously and pokes at one of the monitors, saying, “You have a pretty dangerous leak here, you know.” 

It’s a very tight fit, and the troopers all have to squeeze right next to each other. Rey stands next to the baby’s seat and glares at them the entire time

All in all, Din is grateful the flight won’t be longer than a half hour. 

**Author's Note:**

> edit: i FORGOT i have a mandalorian server on discord if people would like to join and chat about din and green son! https://discord.gg/XwG4W5N the link should be good for awhile, but let me know if it gets messed up at any point and i'll post a new one. thanks!


End file.
